


ii

by Japsody



Category: mine - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15083339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Japsody/pseuds/Japsody





	ii

une 26, 1816.

 

The Lady of Wilderfern House, a beautiful early-14th century house surrounded by fields and woods, located to no more than four hours by road to loch Tay in Perthshire, was up to the elbows with mud.

And far from popular belief, this time it was a good way.

She had invested months of peels, scraps, and some occasional dead animal in this compost, and it had finally have the perfect degree of moisture and acidity needed for the new orchids she was sketching.

Her other plants... well, they would have to survive a season without her special fertilizer.

If be necessary, she would build another container later because this compost, with it’s small eggs and larvae and life, surely...

"Lady Jemma!!!!"

"Wops." Jemma became distracted by the scream, losing her balance and taking a false step on the small ladder she was stand, sinking to her elbows in the fresh part of the compost.

The part that is - basically - juice of rotten vegetables, egg shells and manure.

Her maid grimaced with disgust when she saw her appear at the greenhouse doors.

"Tell me Betty, what's happening?" She asked the girl, trying to get free of her protective sleeves without damaged the rest of her dress.

"Lady Jemma!!" the girl shouted again "You have a visit."

"Visit? But today I don't expect anyone."

"But ma'am, there's someone asking for an audience with you in the salon."

"Uhm" Jemma gave up on the mud and her attempts to not expand it, intentionally, to the rest of her dress. At least the bottom of her skirt was clean. The front instead... it smelled terrible. "Are you heard well? It will not be with Aunt Maude maybe? "

"No, ma'am," her maid replied. "Specifically ask for the house lady, Lady Jemma Anne Simmons and that's you."

Jemma looked at the house with disbelief, removed an apple peel from her chest and closed the greenhouse door behind her.

The thing is, Jemma Anne Simmons was not expecting anyone, not in two days at least and this morning she had personally solve the problems with two of her tenant so there was no way someone would ask for an audience with her today, that's why she had quickly changed into her worn-out work clothes, turned her elaborate braid into a simple bun, and asked the servants to bring a tea tray to the greenhouses.

She had no inclination to leave the greenhouses until late at night.

And now she had a visitor.

Could it be a child, maybe? They liked to play and run in the gardens, escaping from the Groundskeepin and then appeared in the halls asking for Lady Simmons, driving the servants crazy with requests for cakes and milk. Her cook had complained about it, saying that once you feed one the rest appears as termites. But Jemma had seen the smile on her cook's face when she said it and Jemma was not able to chase them away. Because every kid deserves cookies and pudding.

Thinking about it, she quickly reached the house entrance. Her maid led her into the salon and then apologized hastily with a curt bow. Jemma could not say for sure but that was a sly smile on her young maid?

Aunt Maude, her beloved maternal aunt, with broad hips and elegant brown hair, appeared behind the huge oak doors, making little jumps with her feet.

"Cutie!" Aunt Maude hugged her. "Is here!"

"Who?" Jemma smiled inside her excited embrace but then, Aunt Maude skillfully transformed the hug into a kind of grip and dragged her through the doors.

"Your fiance."

"Excuse me?" Jemma tripped over the carpet at the entrance. Did she hear well?

"Jemma Simmons," a man announced inside the room, with an heavy Scottish accent, turning to both women from the windows, in a dramatic effect. "I came for you."

"For me?"

"I knew it, is him."

"It's me."

"IS WHO?" Jemma screamed.

Because honestly, there were a few things in Jemma Simmons' life that she did not execute in a thorough way until the end, and being a dedicated administrator was no one of those things. In miles and miles around there was no man, woman or child bigger three months that Jemma Simmons did not know personally.

And this man with a red military jacket, standing in the middle of her main salon? She had never seen him before.

In her life.

And yes, she would have noticed him, God knows she would have.

Because, such a specimen of man? definitely leaves an impression on someone's memory, with those blue eyes - which look very light from where she was standing but, it’s possible achieve such a blue tone without the watercolor help?- and the most sandy and curly hair with a sloppy beard to match.

Good Lord, this man was handsome.

Very -very- handsome.

But even though Jemma prided herself like administrator, she left a lot to wish as host.

And in front of this man, and his unusual and alarmingly glorious statement, she managed to babble: "What... you, what?" Before closing her mouth like a toad. Struggling to seek inside her mind the correct label to respond at that.

And she failed.

No etiquette class instructed her enough for such a conversation, and no matter how hard she search, at the end she just froze in silence, her mouth slightly open, looking at him.

And the man answered her scrutiny, smiling with pedantry.

For infinite moments.

Until Aunt Maude sighed, noisily.

"Cutie, he has traveled around the continent, battled against Napoleon and finally returned! What boring way to welcome is this. I'll go find something for us to celebrate!”

And her aunt left.

Leaving her alone, in her empty salon -without witnesses, with this stranger.

"UH-uh." Jemma took a few steps toward the settee, dictating to her brain began to act like the hostess that she was. "Would you like to take a seat, Mr....”

The man looked her.

She moved with doubt.

The man blinked.

"Don’t you know my name, do you?"

"Uh, I do not think we've been introduced, are you a member of the board or have you come to expose something related to the harvest? Excuse me, but my mind has been busy for the last month, you are vicar's family perhaps? He always talks about his nephew on the militia and... "

"Enough with this, lass." The man interrupted her, slapping his boots on the carpet. "Are you Jemma Simmons, right?"

"Yes"

"Good." The stranger nodded with approved. "I have come to make you fulfill your promises."

Jemma paled.

WHAT?

There was only one man to whom she had made promises. More the kind of silly and vain fantasies captured in paper than anything else and there was no way that he was who she was thinking.

"But you... you, you're not real…." she stuttered to herself.

Because if one paid attention to the similarities, the man in front of her had the same appearance, bearing, accent and even the blessed military jacket of the man she invented as her suitor when she was just 16 years old.

And that was impossible!

The man cleared his throat, pacing the length of the room until he reached the fireplace and lifted a porcelain cherub, pretending inspect it.

"I'm as real as you see me."

"Enough with this, please sir, tell me your name."

The man abandoned the porcelain and turned to her.

"Captain Leopold Fitz is my name, but my men call me Fitz."

And it was there when Jemma Anne Simmons, who usually works with insects, viscous substances and some other pig and that despite her sensitive nature came to develop a strong stomach, fainted.

Or, almost.

She rather felt her legs become jelly before falling hard, unfeminine way, on the settee.

Or so she believed.

Because she landed on the hardwood of a bureau instead.

 "Ouch!

"Are you alright?"

"No I'm not. I'm seeing things. Did you say Leo... Leopold Fitz? "

There was no way it was true. Captain Leopold Fitz could not be alive.

She had taken it upon to kill him.

Well not in a sadistic way or by her own hands but, from the start, he never exist!

And she had faked very well, for almost five years. She had write both parts of a false correspondence with a single -imaginary- man, who wrote her twice a month, and occasionally send a poem or two to take his mind away from war.

She had spoken so often about him to her family and cousins that, more usual than not, she remind herself that was all product of her imagination. And then, when the lie has begun to pierce painful sores on her heart, she had done the most reasonable thing: she had written a fateful romantic letter -post mortal, by the own Leopold Fitz hand-saying goodbye to Jemma. The same letter that she hid in the mail and three days later her stepmother noticed and made Jemma read aloud, causing to Aunt Maude faint in horror.

And after that, she used black dresses for a entire year,  gradually changed it to gray tones, that also work to hide the stains of painting and dirt.

But still. She got over him.

She continued living her life and moved to Scottish country side when her godfather died. He was left her a manor house and that was the great step that helped her overcome her shyness shell. She was in charge of workers and villagers now, and someone must listened their requests.

So she began with small things: speaking with old ladies, making favors, trying to establish a decent school and occasionally sketching the growth of a new plant.

And as the time went on, she become more confident.

And now, this gentleman says be... No. He is not.

"You're not real, you can not be real."

"I am"

"You are not."

"Yes, I am."

That was the moment when Aunt Maude decided return.

"And that's wonderful!" Her aunt laughed, no bothering to pretend have not been listening to the last part of their conversation "They told us you were...”

"Dead?" Provided Captain Fitz, playing this time, with the tongs of the fireplace. Like if little by little he was taking charge of the salon.

Jemma didn’t lose the aggravated tone of his voice.

"I'm not dead Aunt Maude, can I call you aunt?"

"Of course dear!" The woman, who was already serving up three glasses of punch, smiled at him.

"And I'm very happy to not be. I survived my act againts Napoleon. Luckily I didn’t run on my horseback that sad morning. I couldn't have overcome the guilt if something happened to my horse Icer."

Aunt Maude gasp. "So you horse is fine?"

"Exellent, maybe a little too fond of carrots, but nothing mortal." The Captain inspected a book "Do you know that I saved six of my men, Aunt Maude? We were surrounded and disadvantaged, believing that it was the end of us."

"Oh poor boy, I cant imagine how hard it must have been."

"Which part? See death approching to your troop? or being presumed dead?"

Jemma snorted at that. He was making fun of her, she was sure.

He turned to look at her, supporting the book in place –making Jemma so relieved by that, it was the newest volume from Nova Genera et Species Plantarum and she would hate to see it damaged by a furious - but handsome -  impostor.

Her aunt was oblivious to this exchange, she was very busy distributing the punch cups.

"But I was telling,” he continued, smiling like no battle was happening in the salon “If well my horse is okay, unfortunately I hurt my leg carrying the bloody body of my second in commant that day." Aunt Maude gasped. "Don’t worry, It healed without complications."

Aunt Maude looked at him with genuine impression.

"Your second in command or your leg?"

"My leg, of course. It turned out that my second's blood was from some enemy solder, and my ungrateful friend refuses to let that story go to oblivion."

"Sounds like a remarkable friend, Captain Fitz.”

“He is” The man nodded.  

“And after such an impressive feat, you was named hero by the queen?”

"I was no, Aunt Maud. Many brave acts are left on the battlefield and I prefer that way."

"But you save six lives!"

"Come on, that was already in the past. Look dear! "The General jovially advanced through the instance to Jemma's bureau. "You can touch and check it for yourself." His eyes narrowed. "I'm not dead."

Touch? Oh no, touching was definitely not happening.

There would be no contact.

Jemma had a rule for this type of situation: NO Touch unknown species.

But before she knew it, he was touching her. Looking her in the eyes even.

He had cornered her between the wall and the uncomfortable bureau, took her hand and brought it to his chest, just above a gold medal in his red jacket.

Checked. That unusual tone of blue in his eyes? It exists.

And now, Jemma was frozen, thinking about his unusual eyes and curly bear and her legs faltered.

"You know where the heart is, lass?”

Jemma nodded.

“Check it out, then. It's still beating. "

And Aunt Maude sighed melodramatically, fanning herself with her hand.

"Aunt Maude?"

"Yes Captain?"

"Is it possible gets us another liquor? I'm not very adept at this punch type." he said, still making eye contact with Jemma.

"Sure, yes, of course. I'll bring scotch, maybe? A very old one, which will take me time to find, since it comes from my special personal reservation and I don’t think I remember very well where I put the key. "

"It sounds excellent, thank you."

The treacherous Aunt Maude left, leaving them alone again.

And the unmistakable sound of the door closing, very loud, with key plate on and everything, broke the spell on Jemma.

"What are you looking for, with this cheap show?" She pulled away, forcing herself to retrieve her own hand and look away from his eyes. "You have no conscience? Come here and dupe my aunt like a vile... imposter?

"I'm not the impostor of our story, Jemma Simmons, but I admit, I don’t have a conscience."

"Then I'll help you find it. You must end with this show, it will do nothing more than harm my aunt's health condition."

"nonsense, she looks radiant."

"It may not look like it but she is much older than she looks."

"It's a cause of those tonics and vapors that you always scoffed at." He waved his hand, dismissing it.

Jemma gasped.

"How do you dare? Those letters were private! "

"Not for me." He said crossed his arms, not moving an inch away from her.

"Tell me sir, who hired you to carry out this insane, my cousin Penelope?"

"No one hired me" Captain Fitz laughed "and I'm not a trickster, I'm the real Leopold Fitz and I've come to make you comply with every damn word you wrote me, lass."

"I just can not understand what's happening." Jemma ran her hands through her hair, trying to clear her thoughts "Those letters, they were not supposed to get anywhere, they were fake."

"But they did it, dear, and you're extremely naive if you don’t think the army has a tons of recruits named Fitz."

"But I just threw them in the mail, I'm never specified a troop."

"And yet they came to me, of all miserables."

"But then" Jemma swallowed, with an embarrassing realization "did you read them all?"

The look he gave her told her that he thought she was smart.

Of course he read them, he would not be here if were not. Oh God.

"Each of them?" She moaned. "I think I'm going to get sick."

This time she managed to fall on the settee.

"I imagined you stronger, dear, mostly for all those grotesque descriptions of organs. But I must say that this phase of yours pleases me." He slapped his hands. "What a wonderful welcome home."

"This is not your home."

He turned a deaf ear.

Although he may not have listen her, frankly Jemma was not sure she could talk.

In what kind of dream was she trapped? She needed to wake up, like right now.

She moaned loudly, bringing a hand to her forehead.

The captain moved, slightly worried.

"Come on dear, get better. Finally, after years of agony we are together, are you not happy? "

"No I'm not. And enough with this” Jemma lamented "You have to go."

"Go?"

"Look, if you are looking for an apology, you have it.” She look at him “I am very sorry for writte those letters and irresponsibly threw them into the mail, I didn’t want get you involved."

"But you did, writing all those letters in the first place."

"And I've just already apologized for that, what are you looking for? What can I do for you to stop this farce and leave? do you need money?"

The change in his playful stance changed drastically. A dangerous glow flooded his blue eyes, he straightened his shoulders, reaching his maximum height and lifted his chin with disdain.

“It's not money what I want, lass" He snapped with hard scottish accent. "and I'm not going, not for all your father's gold and your uncles and all your wealthy family. I came for this,” He gestured, pointing to the large windows overlooking the front garden "for the lands, the castle, the village and every damn rock. Because you promised me things, woman and in spite of all your intentions I am alive and I have come to claim your words."

Jemma closed her eyes, feeling where he go.

Because inventing a suitor only means that eventually...

"I've come to get married."

Jemma drank the forgotten cup of punch.

She never imagined that something like this could happen to her, and that was why she create a false suitor in first place.

She was null to flirt, dance, presume and receive marriage proposals.

She was hardly an proper lady, she liked to spend her time with larvae and seeds rather than gossip at a card table and never managed to find the right conversation topic, once she found herself explaining the pollination, of all things, to a minister.

And that was not all!

There were more and more shameful stories.

And now she would have to make him see it.

But before she will try to calm down with deep breaths.

"You don’t understand, Captain.  I was a child with no grace, my father had just married with a perfect lady who, not with intention, influenced my low self-esteem more. I was not made to catch a husband, much less when I could barely talk to someone in a dance.”

“Nonsenses! We'll get married, I do not care how great your stepmother is or that we are destined to be the taciturn ones in a ball.”

“I can’t talk normal in meetings, either.”

“So? Since now, we are not talking to strangers, that's all.”

“But look at me now, I'm old and much boring than before."

“You're extraordinarily beautiful to me- " Captain Fitz blushed violently, before stuttering to himself “Ejem... I-I mean, you hardly have turned your quarter century and you're single and you have all these lands that need a protector, it will hardly boring.”

Jemma gets surprised, his words calling her beautiful still rumbling in her ears.

Extraordinarily beautiful.

She had never been described by anything other than graceful. Especially not when she had excrement and mud on her dress.

“But we don’t know each other.” She tried.

“We are doing it now!” he smiled “Some marriages have started with less.”

“Fitz, please-” Jemma found herself begging, accidentally calling him by his last name.

“Enough with the pretexts.” he replied with laughter “You have sent me letters and called me my dear in most of them. If that does not make us engaged for marry, I don’t know what does. "

Jemma blinked to his logic.

"You will marry me, Jemma Simmons or the otherwise imagine these letters," The Captain hit inside his jacket "falling in the wrong hands-"

Oh dear Lord.

He still has her letters?

The Captain Fitz pulled ceremoniously out a piece of paper from his jacket and began to read.

"My dear Captain. Today my cousin Lucilla maked fun of our relationship. She is seventeen years old and is very pride about been kissed in the privacy of an empty terrace in the middle of a ball. I have spend hours listening her, again and again. I must say that as the afternoon progressed the storie became more and more daring, with descriptions of crashing teeth and sounds. And then, my lovely cousin made laugh of my flushed cheeks, and then she start making fun of us and asked me if we had ever kissed. Then I..."

"Enough, please." Jemma knew what was coming next. In fact, she could still see her nineteen-year-old self writing that specific letter as soon as her cousin left.

"I told them, Oh my dear Captain, I don’t know where this came from but once It was outside I could not help it..."

"Stop."

Fitz looked at her over the letter.

"- Once outside, I could not help it." He repeated, with a smile "I told them we had kissed...”

"Okay, enough!" Jemma prayed for her aunt appear.

"I told them we had kissed and that our kiss was...”

Jemma closed her eyes, mortificated.

"Inevitable." He finished, his smile turning wolfish. He folded the letter carefully and put it inside his jacket. "Do not get like that, lass, this was not so bad. There more to choose. And as you can remember, they became more personal. "

Caprain Fitz went through the salon, until he reached the fine settee and sat down next to her.

"And if I refuse to marry you?"

"Then I'll make sure all the letters come out." He shrugged.

"You mean expose me to my father?"

"No, I'm thinking more like scandal magazines. I will see which one offers more money in London and I will scatter them, possibly also on the Continent. "

Jemma opened her mouth, trembling with fury, unable to believe that this man in front of her, her idealized Captain Fitz, was so... cruel.

And she told him.

"I can not believe you're so cruel."

The man blinked.

"No, in fact I'm not. That's why I'm here giving you the option to marry me, calm, with your loving aunt present or things end worse. "

Jemma got up. She used to work with wild and furious animals, before finally finding her true North, so, using all those experience years, she tried a better tactic.

"Let's think this with cool head, okay? I was a sixteen year old girl, shy, lonely and not expecting enjoy London. Did not you do anything stupid at sixteen?”

"Of course."

Finally, they progressed.

"And? What was it? "

"I joined to the military."

And that was the moment when Aunt Maude finally show up, with a delicate wiski bottle in her hands and Fitz stood up, to announce that they had both decided not waste more time and get married in two hours, tonight.

Aunt Maude jumped with joy and hugged Jemma, the wiski bottle being pressed on her ribs.

"I knew you would not let him go." She whispered in her ear before ringing the bell and beginning to dictate orders to the maidens to how prepare a wedding.

She did not know how or why, but Jemma had the impression that it had been the other way around.


End file.
